


Satellite

by snarkmcsnark



Series: Miguel Galindo/Reader One-Shots [2]
Category: Mayans M.C. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Religious Content, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkmcsnark/pseuds/snarkmcsnark
Summary: The men on his security team may be displaying the physical prowess, but you call the shots as the head of intelligence for the Galindo cartel. You've been working for Miguel for the last two years, but that's not all you've been doing. Somewhere along the way, you got closer to the man himself, learning the type of intelligence that complicates your job and pulls your heart in opposite directions.





	Satellite

The lights string across the pergola like stars guiding you to your destination. The doors are wide open, sheer curtains billowing in the evening desert air. Nostalgia sweeps over you as you feel like a teenager sneaking back home after curfew. Your footsteps quiet as a mouse and your breath anchored in your lungs until you see him. Your target. Two years orbiting Miguel Galindo, and he has this effect on you. Now more than ever.

He’s sitting against the headboard, long legs stretched out, while busy working on his laptop. The glasses he never wears out in public are sitting low on the bridge of his nose. So absorbed in his work, he doesn’t notice you’ve invaded his private sanctuary until you’re standing at the foot of the bed. His back straightens, one arm reaching over to the nightstand where you know he keeps a Sig Sauer pistol he’s only fired a few times in the range. The man runs a cartel defended by semi-automatics, but he scoffs at Americans’ rooted infatuation for the second amendment. He stills. Closing his eyes, he settles back against the headboard and exhales deeply. “You could’ve announced your arrival.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He shakes his head in disappointment. When he opens his eyes, his gaze averts back to the glowing blue screen on his lap. The knot between his brows deepen, and you have the sudden urge to press your lips on that spot and, maybe, melt that tension away. The same way his lips soften you until you’re pliant for him.

“Busy?”

“Just more EPA bullshit to sort through,” he says as his fingers furiously type. “One more delay and the contractor is threatening to pull out.”

“You wouldn’t let him do that.”

Miguel looks up to meet your stare. “Of course not. But there are things I would like to accomplish without having to resort to threats of violence.”

“A pacifist cartel boss,” you say with a smirk. “A Nobel Peace Prize would look good on your bookshelf,  _jefe_.”

“Funny.”

“One of my many gifts.” You head toward the bathroom. Leaning against the door frame, you watch Miguel’s tightened profile as he returns to his work. Your hands reach behind you to release the handgun, and you set it down on the opposite nightstand. You pull your shirt loose. Then your fingers unclasp the button to your coated black denim, shimmying them slowly down your hips. “Still busy?”

Miguel stops and turns his attention to you. He raises a brow as his eyes rake over your body, then finally settle on your face. “When am I ever not busy?”

“What’s that saying?” Your fingers splay across your stomach, slowly snaking beneath the band of your panties. “All work and no play —” You angle your head back, arching against the doorway. Your hand disappears under the fabric, feeling yourself warm and wet in anticipation. You’ve waited for this with the patience of a saint — one with far too many depraved thoughts for any god to welcome in the afterlife. “— Makes Mikey a dull boy.”

Miguel sets the laptop aside and sets his glasses down on the surface. Intertwining his fingers, he sets them over his lap — over the bulge materializing under his sweatpants. He presses his lips into a tight line and squints. “Do I bore you?”

You tug on your bottom lip as your digits part your lower lips. “I can’t answer that.” The intensity in his eyes forces you to act. Impaling your self, you gasp as the sensation rushes through you like a jolt of electricity. Your walls clench around your fingers and a quiet moan escapes your lips. “I wouldn’t want to risk losing my job for mouthing off on my boss.”

“That filthy mouth has done worse things to your boss.”

A smile spreads across your flushed face. “Worse things?”

“Punishable things.”

“Punishable, how?”

The mattress makes a noise as Miguel shifts in bed. He rolls to his side, pulling his sweats low on his hips and sliding a hand underneath the waistband. He rests his head on his hand, while the other hand inches down in a tortuous pace. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him with lidded eyes. He grasps his length, stroking slow and languid. “Come here and let me show you.”

You shake your head, twirling and disappearing into the bathroom. Satisfied to hear Miguel’s frustrated groan, you pull your shirt over your head and peel the skinny jeans off your legs. The cool air hitting your skin relaxes you, and you can’t help but run your hands up your thighs.

“You’re not making it any easier for you.”

Looking over your shoulder, you see Miguel standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. His t-shirt is gone and he’s down to his designer sweats — $400 a pair or something ridiculous like that. Nonetheless, it’s a sight to behold. And so are you (probably) all bent over in your underwear, ass sticking up in the air, making this man stare you down like a snack to be devoured.

“You come into my bedroom in the middle of the night to interrupt me while I’m working.” He takes a step toward you, hands reaching out to skim your hips. “You take your clothes off and touch yourself as if you standing in the same room isn’t enough of a fucking distraction.” He helps you straighten your back and mold against his frame, pressing into his hardness. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my productivity?”

“Why don’t you fire me then?” Your eyes remain fixed on the mirror, staring at the reflection of the two of you. There’s no doubt in your heart how you feel about Miguel, but your mind is hoping he takes the bait and cuts you loose. It saves you from making a choice you no longer want to make.

“Because,” he starts, trailing kisses up the side of your neck and behind your ear. “As much as I love Nestor like a brother, you are the brains behind my security team. If it hadn’t been for you, that car bomb Lobos Sonora planted would have killed me.”

“I only did my job.”

“Excellently,” he adds, murmuring hotly against your skin. “Among other things.”

“Like?”

He laughs almost devilishly. “Remember how we were talking about this mouth.” He cups your chin, twisting your head so he can kiss you all lips and tongue and then he disconnects. Forehead resting against your temple, he breathes hard and heavy. “Almost nothing I enjoy more than seeing my cock between these lips, feeling your tongue wrap around me, watching you on your knees while you take me so far down your greedy throat.”

You spin in his arms and begin to get on your knees, but he pulls you from under your arms, keeping your feet planted on the ground. “What’s wrong?”

“ _Almost nothing_ , I said.” Miguel tilts his head toward the glass-enclosed shower. “Strip. And let me finish what you started.”

In seconds, you’ve stripped down to your birthday suit. Miguel’s eyes fix on your heaving chest, his lips parted and pupils dilated. You lean up, pressing your breasts against him, tugging his earlobe between your teeth. “Are you honestly telling me you love giving more than receiving,  _jefe_?” Turning on your heel, you walk to the shower, swaying your hips a little more than you usually do when you’re wearing the hat of Galindo’s Director of Intelligence.

The water is hot as soon as you’ve turned the tap, cascading over your body like a waterfall. Closing your eyes, you tilt your head to the ceiling. A smile washes over your face as you feel Miguel’s strong arms wrap around you from behind, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses down your shoulder. “I love making you come apart with my mouth.” His teeth graze the pulse on your neck. “I suppose, in your estimation, that would make me both a pacifist and a philanthropist.”

“I liked it better when you referred to yourself as _el diablo_.”

“Time and place, baby,” he says, spinning you around and pushing you against the wall. He lowers his head, kissing you fiercely. “Tonight, I’m not going to stop until you’re praying to the god you don’t believe in.”

You take his face in your hands, slotting your lips over his. A part of you wants him to shut up because he’s making you so hot it’s agonizing. Another part of you just wants to stay locked in this moment before it becomes all about the sex — rough and satisfying beyond belief yet stripped of the kind of emotion you crave. The kind of emotion you’ve confined in the safe that holds your truth.

Miguel parts from your kiss, a sly smile on his deceivingly charming face. His hands trail down your waist as he gets down on his knees. There’s something so hot, so empowering about seeing this man on his knees, yearning to provide you with pleasure so concentrated and impassioned that it sounds ridiculous to describe it as an act of selflessness. But that’s what it is. When Miguel hooks your leg over his shoulder and buries his face in your heat, it’s unselfish.

You lick your lips as Miguel’s tongue slowly circles around your clit, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your ass, pressing you farther into him. “Jesus —”

He pulls away, his lips all pink, and his big, brown eyes looking so pleased with himself. “Didn’t take you long enough.”

“I wasn’t talking about that Jesus.”

“Well, I certainly hope you’re not talking about Jesus, my personal chef.”

“Shut up and eat me out,” you say, pulling him by the hair and pushing him back between your legs. You whimper as his tongue slowly licks up your slit. “Fuck, baby. So good.”

Miguel hums against your skin, the small vibrations spurring you farther and farther to the edge. He laps at your clit, the repetitive motions giving you a thrill so intense it feels like a drop on a roller coaster. His hands push up against your ass, pulling your other leg over his shoulder. Your back arched against the wall, he dives deeper. Lips and tongue everywhere at once.

Nestled between your thighs, his eyes lock on yours as he pleases you with his mouth. He squeezes your flesh every time you moan as if he’s urging you to release that prayer from your lips.

Legs wide open. Eyes sealed shut. Cheek pressed so hard on the tile you’re sure it’s left an imprint on your skin. “Mig—” you begin to cry out before you moan at the sensation of his tongue delving deep inside you. He presses his nose against your clit, inhaling your scent before he works you with his mouth. It has you moaning and quivering. You’re on the edge of thrashing against the wall, slipping from his grip around your thighs.

As the excitement builds, you look down to see Miguel so focused on you and your pleasure. He clenches his fists like he’s trying to restrain himself from touching you. When his fingers and mouth work in tandem, you’re pretty much a lost cause within minutes. It’s a challenge for himself just as much as it is for you not to cry out anything that would be deemed blasphemous. His knuckles are white. His arms scoop you up, hiking you a little higher on the wall, and he tightens his hold to get that extra leverage he needs.

“Taste so fucking good,” Miguel hums into your clit. He presses his tongue flat against it and smiles wide — so pleased with himself — and you buck forward because it’s so good, and because you’re chasing that mouth. Then he’s back to your core, concentrated on making you climax. You’re rocking onto his face now, your breathing so rapid and shallow.  You moan louder this time, and you’re scared you’ve woken up every sleeping soul within twenty acres of this shower.

“God — God damn it, Miguel!”

He pulls away, a satisfied grin on his face — his mouth and chin glistening with your arousal. It’s so fucking hot.

You slide yourself lower on the wall and you don’t give a fuck if his shoulders and arms are hurting. You practically sit on the man’s face, slowly grinding into his hot, waiting mouth. He splays his hands over the base of your belly, putting the right kind of pressure that has you bursting at the seams of rapture. The agony urges you to push him away to get some relief. The lust makes you squeeze your thighs around his head, pulling him in deeper. He licks and kisses, dives and sucks. His whole head is moving side to side, neck craned up and muscles tensed. Miguel’s eating you out so fucking good and there’s no let-up, no sign of slowing down. Your body’s so pliant. Your legs feel like they’re melting down the strong muscles of his back.

“Jesus Christ!”

“That’s right,” Miguel whispers within an inch of where you need those soft, swollen lips. “A little oral sex, and I’ve turned a heathen into a believer.”

“Don’t let your Catholic boy fantasies ruin this.”

Miguel laughs before he pulls your lower half off the wall. Your life flashes before your eyes just when you think you’re going to crack your skull on the marble. But his grip on you tightens, and your shoulder blades dig deeper into the wall behind you. He doesn’t relent. Your whole body is burning like a firecracker ready to shoot in the night sky. You’re not even sure when it starts, but you feel tears streaming down your face at how good it all feels. Your body stiffens before it breaks, a tide of unspeakable bliss crashing over you. Control is surrendered to Miguel as he gives, and gives, and gives until there’s nothing left for him to do but take.

* * *

It’s about an hour to sunrise when you make it back to your small apartment near the entrance of the Galindo compound. The lights are off in the adjacent room, which means Nestor isn’t up yet.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep in Miguel’s bed. But every time you find yourself alone in your boss’ company, things just get more and more complicated. You dig yourself deeper into this hole, get tangled up even further in this web of lies. And you have no one else to blame but yourself.

Stripping down into your underwear, you set your gun atop your nightstand then make your way to the closet. Behind the pressed shirts and blazers is a safe containing your truth — a license and passport with a different name and a gold and blue badge. For the last two years, you’ve been orbiting Miguel Galindo as a CIA special agent tasked to gather information to put him in an early grave like the agency did his father. You’ve spent the last few months trying to solve the impossible riddle of keeping your job and keeping your target safe. Now, you’re faced with something new. How do you tell the man you love that you’re about to put a bullet through his heart?


End file.
